


What Do You Call This?

by jewboykahl



Category: New Girl (TV 2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, One Shot, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: It’s New Years Eve and Nick has ruined Schmidt’s night—but he thinks he may just have a way to make up for it.
Relationships: Nick Miller/Schmidt (New Girl)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	What Do You Call This?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambercreek95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambercreek95/gifts), [thelotusflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/gifts).



> hello!!! this is my first New girl story so im sorry if it sucks!! i usually write south park so LMAO very different  
> anywhore, thank you to my two best friends for encouraging me to try different fandoms and for getting me even more emotionally invested in new girl!! i love u both  
> and thanks for reading if anyone actually does for some unknown reason this ship is not that popular???

“I cannot believe you did this to me, Nicolas!” Schmidt exclaims before slouching onto the leather couch, loosening his tie. 

Jess and Winston are soon to follow, falling close to one another in the crevice of the corner seat. Nick stays standing, gesturing toward himself as he explains, “How was I supposed to know that the owner was watching me? I’m sure lotsa people sneak alcohol into that place, they had _nothin’_! It was all fruity, lady drinks like _melon liqueur_!”—he points a finger over to Jess, who appears to be close to sleep—“and I was right, they had _no_ whiskey!” 

Schmidt pushes himself upright, cheeks red with a combination of too much Midori Sour and outrage. “Nobody brings their own alcohol to a classy, rooftop New Years Eve garden party! The alcohol is provided!” 

“Hey—I like free alcohol as much as any hard-working American, but I refuse to put that garbage, sugary baby juice in my body, Schmidt! And who has a garden party at night? That’s silly!” 

“ _You_ are silly, sir! You’re the silly behemoth who I am _this close_ to decking right across his dumb, coal-miner-whiskey obsessed face!” Schmidt holds his fingers up, signifying that he is _very_ close to doing so. 

Nick rolls his eyes, gestures becoming more emphatic, “I wish ya’d hit me! Then I could get the image of you rolling your hips while sipping at a cherry martini like a fucking call girl in a lifetime movie!” 

“Martinis are classy! James Bond drinks martinis!” 

“Bond drinks _dry_ martinis! With the olives! Not the fruit!” 

“Olives are fruit, you unbelievable idiot! Do yourself a favor and open a fucking book every once in a while—or, better yet, your Internet browser!” 

“You know I don’t trust Google, and you always try to push it on me!” 

Schmidt jumps to his feet, placing one hand on his hip using the other to point at Nick. “You are a gigantic, embarrassing man baby, and I will never take you to another dinner! Now I have to explain to my vicious shark boss why my guests and I were kicked out of one of LA’s premiere restaurants during a work outing!” 

Nick lets out a dry laugh as the other man pinches the bridge of his nose, “That’s music to my ears, Schmidty! ‘Cause the next time you beg me to come with you to one of your boring rich people tea parties with nothing substantial to drink, I’m gonna spit in your face.” 

Schmidt lets his hand fall to his side dramatically, pinching his dark eyebrows together, “You’re gonna _spit_ in my face?!” 

“Yeah, I’m gonna spit in your face! And I’m gonna spit on your royal sensibilities!” 

Winston starts to interject on the nonsense debate, but decides it’s definitely not worth it and lets his head fall back against the snoring Jess’s thighs. This has been happening a lot recently—more so than usual. 

Nick has definitely noticed that their pointless bickering has been occurring more and more. Possibly because he has been going out of his way to irritate Schmidt. He did not love admitting it to himself (so he ignored the voice in his head reminding him _exactly_ why he was doing this), but he was beginning to rather enjoy the breach of personal space that came along with his good friend shouting in his face. His chest puffs out, his eyes narrow, his hot breath splayed across his face, and the incredible scent of him wafted with every gesture. 

It is also so easy to tick him off. 

Being attracted to your best friend was absolutely new territory for Nick, and instead of acknowledging the feelings and potentially acting on them or discussing them (with someone other than Jess at three in the morning, completely wasted), he decided that continuing to annoy Schmidt on a daily basis was far preferable. 

Schmidt shakes his head in confusion, “My royal—what the hell are you talking about?! Do you ever know what you’re saying?!”

Nick shrugs, doing his best to contain the pleased grin daring to cross his lips. Schmidt and his furrowed brows and glossy hazels are glaring daggers at him, face inches apart, lips still moving. For what is tragically probably the hundredth time he has a brief, distracting daydream about throwing an arm around his middle and yanking him into a long, passionate kiss on the lips. 

“Are you even listening to me?!” A particularly animated exclamation pulls Nick from his reverie. “You have the attention span of an elderly goldfish!” 

Nick lets the smirk curl his lips, which confuses Schmidt slightly. He can’t help himself—he loves it when Schmidt’s mean. Does that mean he has issues? Probably, but like most things that are wrong with him, he doesn’t care. He says, “What’d you say?” 

Schmidt falters slightly. Winston and Jess are snoozing audibly behind them. He repeats, “I said now I won’t have any elegant but sleazy women to make out with at midnight.”

Nick doesn’t miss the quick glance at his lips Schmidt steals. He wets his own and shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to find someone else to kiss at midnight, Schmidty.” 

“I...” It is the first time in knowing Schmidt that he has no reply. His gaze is wide and glued to Nick. His chest is heaving.

Nick does a quick glance at his phone to check the time. It’s 12:02A.M. His heart falls at the missed excuse to finally do the thing he had been wanting to do for God knows how long, but _definitely_ a long time. His eyes fall back onto Schmidt’s and he shrugs again. “I guess times up. Sorry for ruining your night.” 

With that, Nick turns to head into his bedroom, but he’s stopped by a firm grasp on his flannel-clad bicep. He turns back and is immediately met with Schmidt’s hands on both sides of his face. His breath hitches as Schmidt closes the remaining gap, crashing their lips together; it isn’t a quick, half-joking Fredo kiss, either. It is a hard, intense, purposeful kiss. 

Nick gives into his desires, tossing his arms around Schmidt’s hips, and dragging him closer. They breath heavily into each other, lips parting and gliding passionately in sync. Nick cannot contain the rush of lust flushing over as he grasps at the sculpted, firm edges of Schmidt’s fit body. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—even the first time he allowed himself to explore his sexuality with a tall, drunken firefighter in the bathroom of The Griffin. 

Schmidt’s long fingers trace the back of Nick’s slightly wavy hair, his other hand holding his stubbly cheek. The grip is desperate, as if he is expecting Nick to jump away as he usually does when met with any sort of physical affection or emotional honesty. Nick lets him know that there is no place he would rather be by deepening the kiss; he darts his tongue into the small opening of Schmidt’s lips as they turn their heads for easier access. Nick moves a hand to the back of Schmidt’s head and rubs their tongues together for a brief, intoxicating moment. He learns that Schmidt is a _very_ good kisser and he is a lot gayer than he thought. 

Nick withholds a whine when Schmidt pulls away. He opens his eyes to find his friend’s eyes still shut, looking unfairly attractive with raw, red lips parted, heavy breaths falling. He opens his eyes and cocks one eyebrow, “Is it... making you uncomfortable that Jess and Winston are right behind us or is it turning you on? ‘Cause honestly—“ 

“Don’t finish that sentence and come to my room,” Nick demands, shivering at the implication of his words and releasing Schmidt from the embrace. He grasps Schmidt’s hand and starts toward his bedroom. 

“What are ya, nuts?!” Schmidt exclaims unexpectedly and earns himself a confused grimace from Nick. “I will not allow the magic our first sexual exchange to be thwarted by a moldy cheese sandwich underneath your pilla!” 

Nick scrunches his nose, “Why do you have to say pillow like that, it’s pillow! And stop holding that against me that happened once! My room’s fine, it’s a manly man’s room!” 

“Well we are continuing this endeavor in my _girly_ man’s room, end of discussion!” Schmidt snaps with finality, lacing their fingers together and stepping around the couch. 

Nick does not object until they pass the kitchen. He mumbles, “Don’t call it an endeavor, that sounds so formal and weird.” 

Schmidt does not reply until they are shut up in the loft’s smallest bedroom that smells perpetually of sandalwood. With a bright, happy smile, he leans back into Nick, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “What should I call this then?” Nick pauses, settling his hands on Schmidt’s hips. He is not surprised that his words escape him—especially with his best friend staring at him like that. His stomach is full and his mind is racing. Schmidt continues in a whisper, “What do _you_ call this?” 

It has to be a full minute of silent, wordless gaping. Schmidt does not become upset or rush him for a response, though, which causes appreciation to well in Nick’s chest. He shrugs and bobs his head while he sucks in a deep breath. He whispers, “Everything,” 

It’s definitely good enough for the hyper-emotional, hyper-adorable man standing before him. Schmidt brings Nick into a kiss yet again, and they don’t stop kissing until it is no longer 12A.M. altogether, and they fall asleep in the comfort of one another’s arms. 


End file.
